Visiting Hours
by Simon920
Summary: Robin makes good on his promise to visit organized crime boss John Gadolfalo in prison. This is a follow up to the story Gadolfalo.
1. Chapter 1

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**Gadofalo **

**Visiting Hours**

** Part One**

**One Year Served**

John Gadolfalo was sentenced to fifteen to twenty years for racketeering just as he expected. His lawyers had tried to plea bargain but the prosecutors refused, insisting that they'd rather let the judge decide. Translation? They had him dead in their sights with an air-tight case and had no reason to give him anything. In addition they had enough evidence on his underlings and associates to send them all away. He would serve the time. Period. They all would.

A year after the verdict and sentencing, a nothing Tuesday, Gadolfalo was taken from his cell and told he had a visitor. Expecting to see one of his lawyers regarding the appeal, he was surprised to see Robin sitting on the other side of the glass, quietly waiting.

Sitting and picking up the intercom/phone the convicted organized crime boss nodded, "Hey, kid. 'Good to see you—how y'doin?"

"Hi Mr. Gadolfalo, I'm okay, how are you holding up in here?" the man shrugged; it was what it was. "I read that your wife said you were bored and that you like to read so I brought you a couple of books. I hope that was okay." He held up the new John Grisham and the latest Stephen King. "You don't mind, do you? I could bring some magazines or the Times or something if you'd like that better."

John shook his head. This kid, this Robin kid—he came all the way to State Pen to ask if he needed something to read? What did the kid really want? "You drove two hours to ask me if I want a newspaper?" But… "Wait, you even old enough to drive? You look a little young for that, how come you're here?"

"I told you I'd come to see you, don't you remember?"

That was true, at the trial, the kid had told him that he'd visit but John had assumed that it was just words, maybe a good intention or curiosity that went a little too far. But, damn here he was, sitting in front of him, just like he said he would. "What, you want to ask me some more questions, ask what I know about some of the opened cases GPD has on it's books—that your angle?"

Robin just looked at him for a couple of beats and his face had this look on it like maybe his feelings were hurt. "I don't have an angle. Honest. I just thought you're an interesting man and I'd like to be able to talk to you sometimes, that's all." He frowned. "If you don't want to, that's okay."

"Nah, s'down, kid. You came all this way, yeah, I'd like to have someone to talk to. Did you know they have me in solitary for a while until the guys here get used to me bein' around." And his wife was filing for divorce and refusing to let the kids visit, the bitch.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course I'm sure." Gadofalo shifted a little; what was he going to say to this kid? He wasn't like a normal kid, not by any stretch. He was like one of those fifteen year olds who you got the felling were like really forty year old midgets. He liked kids, he loved them but this one—he just wasn't your run of the mill, plays soccer, takes out the trash kid. So you didn't answer, how'd you get here? Your old man hanging around waiting foir you or listening in or something?"

"Batman? No, nothing like that. I kind of have permission, it's not official or anything, but I can drive and usually the cops look the other way so I can work."

"Special perks, huh? Well, what the hell, I guess you've earned it. The press find out and you'll be grounded, though, right?" Robin half laughed and nodded. If his bending the driving rules got out there'd be one of those stupid media storms over nothing; he was a better driver than almost anyone on the roads, had passed all the tests and had even taken extreme driving tests. He could handle a car no problem but it wouldn't matter. "So—how's school going for you?"

"It's okay, boring."

"Yeah, I guess you have bigger fish to fry than geometry, right?"

"I guess, but mostly I don't have all that much in common with the rest of the students and I can't talk about a lot of things with them so I'm sort of an outsider there."

Sure, that made sense. "You get good grades?"

"If I don't make honor roll I can't be Robin but the classes are boring, too easy."

He could see that. Robin was a smart kid, any jerk could see that. "Batman know you're here?"

"No."

Just 'no'—so the kid snuck out without permission and he didn't like school; nothing unusual about that. "You gonna get in trouble for comin' to see me?"

"No, it'll be okay. He knows I can take care of myself and I mentioned that I spoke with you that day in the courthouse." Another smile and half laugh. "Besides, it's not like I've never been inside a prison before."

John leaned back in his chair, liking the small piece of smart-ass sass that made him seem like an almost normal kid. Robin reminded him a little of his own son, even though Frankie wasn't ever going to get onto any honor roll. One of these days he'd see his kid again, damned if he wouldn't…"So, you have a girlfriend?" Robin blushed and didn't answer—so either he did and was doing the deed when he shouldn't be or there was some girl who wouldn't give him the time of day. Kids, they were all the same—all right, no they weren't but some things were universal and embarrassment about their sex lives sure were. "Girls—they're another species but I tell 'ya—you find the right one and she'll make all the crap worthwhile."

"I guess."

"'Ya get the wrong one and it'll make this place seem like a vacation, believe me on this one." Robin nodded with a small smile like he was thinking back to some recent Saturday night or something along those lines. The silence stretched on a few seconds too long and John shifted in his chair, giving Robin a hard look. "So, you want to tell me why you're really here?" The pause continued. "The Bat leaning on you? He doin' anything he shouldn't be? Cause if he is, I don't care who he is, I'll have my boys make sure he knows that ain't acceptable, y'hear me?" Hell, who hadn't read the rumors about the Bat and Robin? You'd have to be living under one big rock not to know about the gossip.

Robin gave him a disgusted look. "God—no. Gross. That's all bullshit, he's never touched me—he likes women too much." The kid looked at Gadofalo. "Me, too, liking girls, I mean." Oh crap. "You won't tell anyone I said that, will you? The press—it would be a nightmare.

"Nah, why would I say anything to anybody; it's no one's business, right? Ah hell, kid, if I looked like you do, like you're gonna look in a few years, I bet you won't have any trouble getting any girl you set your mind to."

"I don't know about that."

The Boss smiled at the boy's blush; yeah, he was getting some. Kids, you gotta love 'em. "So…?"

"So…nothing. I just wondered if you were doing okay, that's all."

"Uh-huh, I'm doing all right. You gotta get going?"

Robin nodded. "Would you mind if I come back?"

"I'd like that, if you'd come back to see me but you don't have to bring me anything, spending your money—it ain't right."

"I don't mind."

"Nah, it's not right. I'm gonna make sure that you get paid back for whatever you spend, I'll have my accountant send you money and I insist about that—you're just a kid, you shouldn't spend your allowance on me." He held up his hand to stop Robin's protest. "Next time bring me the new Pat Conroy, okay? And see if you can arrange a subscription for me to the Gotham Times and the Post, clear it through the warden if you have to."

"I can't. I mean I'd like to but it's against the regs, you could be getting messages in the personals or the want ads—sorry, but I'll bring you any books you want, if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure, you do what you can—you're a good kid, I appreciate this and I won't forget it."

Robin stood up when the guard walked back in, their time was up. "It's nothing, really."

"Of course it is and I don't forget when someone is good to me. Ask anybody; I remember."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Visiting Hours**

**Part Two**

**Two Years Served**

"Hi, Kid. How's it goin'?"

"Okay, Mr. Gadolfalo; how are you doing, everything okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Y'know, it's all the same here, every day, no change, business as usual."

The boy laughed at that; they both knew that business as usual for Gadolfalo involved running his crime organization from inside his cell. Every time his lawyer showed up, whenever one of his 'associates' stopped in there was another set or orders going out and no one, not the warden or the judge stopped it. Robin didn't like it but he knew people were being paid off and it was all part of the corruption that Batman ad Jim Gordon were doing their damnedest to stop.

Robin had been come to visit Gadofalo about three to four times a year and over that time they'd developed an understanding with one another. There were certain things they never brought up, never discussed; things like how many people the Boss was responsible for disappearing, anything involving his 'job' (unless he brought it up first) and what contact he had with the outside. On the other hand, they did spend time talking about the books Robin would bring and how John felt about his lawyers who hadn't managed to get him sprung yet, how Rob was doing in school, his social life and, increasingly, his hopes and plans for the future. They almost never talked about the Boss's family.

And the Bat; they never went there.

"How come you never ask me about him? I can tell you're curious but you never say anything about Batman or how I started working with him or any of that."

"Hell, you get asked that garbage enough with all the reporters you have to talk to. I figured that if you wanted to say something you would."

"You wonder though, don't you?" Robin was teasing the man, which was one of the things Gadolfalo liked about the kid, the fact that he wasn't afraid of him and treated him like a regular guy. The kid had balls and that was no lie.

"Why, you wanna talk about him? You wanna talk, I'll listen. You don't want to, we can talk about football." Robin didn't say anything so something must have happened. "Okay, what's going on? He hasn't hit you or anything like that, has he?"

"No, it's fine."

"He ever try to—you know, he ever try any funny stuff?"

"Him? C'mon, I told you it's not like that, never has been, never will be. We both like girls too much. Did you see the game yesterday?"

No problem, the kid didn't want to talk about something, they wouldn't talk about it. "The Knights suck; how the hell do you blow a fourteen point lead with two minutes to go in the fourth? Jesus."

"Yeah, it was pretty impressive."

"'Cost me three grand." A beat. "Okay, what did he do?" Screw this, the kid was upset and he didn't like that; he was a good kid, he deserved to be treated the way he should be treated. There weren't many kids who'd go out of their way to visit an prison inmate they weren't even related to; God knew his own kids never set foot in the place—of course, that was probably not a bad thing.

Robin half shrugged and half shook his head in frustration. "He's really getting on my case about college, wants me to take a prep course for the SAT's and start narrowing down my choices about where I want to apply."

"'Sounds like he's concerned, kid, like he cares. 'You rather he ignored the whole thing?"

"No, but…he won't drop it."

"Pressure, huh?" The Boss rubbed his jaw; kids—they didn't get it. He should be so lucky to have a kid who was smart and wanted to do stuff, who had choices and got off his butt without someone forcing it. Now his Frankie—there was a kid who needed a good boot in the ass, not like this kid. Frankie would be happy to have the world handed to him on a damn silver platter and if it were he'd find a way to screw it up. It was his mother; she spoiled the kid, spoiled him rotten.

"The thing is I'm not sure I even want to go to college. I mean, no one in my family ever went and they did just fine. C'mon, it's not like I'm never going to get a job if I don't have a degree, right? Did you go to college, Mr. Gadolfalo?"

"Me? You're kidding, right? But you know something; maybe if I had I wouldn't be sittin' here. Maybe I'd have done something else. Maybe I'd be sittin' on the other side of the glass looking in instead of inside looking out."

"But I always got the feeling that you liked what you do. I mean, you're good at it, you're in charge, you have a lot of people who do what you tell them, they respect you. You're sort of like a CEO; power, money, perks. You seem like you're into it, aside from the prison term and stuff."

"Yeah, well a prison term is a pretty big downturn in business."

"But you're going to get out and then it'll be back to work, right?" The silence was instant and awkward. In act business was going along just fine, even if he was in a cell. "Oh hell, sorry. I didn't mean to go there. Really, I'm sorry."

"'S'okay. It's what it is." John let it roll off his back. "So where does he want you to go to school?"

"Someplace conservative, someplace where I can blend in, still work as Robin but ace classes and pretend I'm a normal student."

"No one would call you a normal kid, kid. I mean, just take a look at you—fifteen—sorry, sixteen and sittin' here talkin' to me. And you told me you're on the honor roll at your school, I saw you do some acrobatics on TV a couple a' years ago—you're pretty good. You're not a normal kid and you know that, right, _Robin_?" John saw the look on the kid's face, there was more to it than just this. Something was really bothering him and this was just the tip of the iceberg. "'Sounds to me a lot like what you're doin' now. 'That the problem, more of the same?"

A single head shake. "There's more but I can't talk about it, it's—you'd know too much about my personal life." He saw the suspicion in the older man's face. "No, nothing like that; really, he's not after my ass, drop that, okay? You've really got a hang up about that, y'know."

"Yeah, whatever. You wanna know what I think, right, or you wouldn't be here talkin' to me." Another reluctant head nod from the kid. "Okay, look. It's not that complicated to me. He wants you to go to college, 'doesn't sound like a bad idea but you don't want to. So, here's what you do; you go, pick a place you think may be okay. Go; try it for a year or whatever. Maybe it won't be bad; you may even like it. If you don't, if it's no good, leave."

"Yeah, but I don't quit things. I never have and…"

"This wouldn't be quittin'. This would be giving it a shot and then makin' up your mind after checkin' it out. And you're right. This isn't up your alley; you can always do somethin' else, right? You're a cop, you can go be a cop full time." Gadolfalo smiled. "It wouldn't be my choice, but if that's what works for you, what the hell."

"What would you say if your son asked you the same question, the same thing?"

"About bein' a cop? I'd ask him to consider another line of work, but that's just me, okay?" It was a joke. "Okay, look, I know his mother wants him to go to college, get a good education and get away from the family business and, between you me and the fence post—I'm on her side. This, what I do—what you do—is too dangerous, people get hurt, get killed and no mother wants her son to have to face that, wants to wait for the damn phone to ring." The Boss rubbed his jaw again thinking. "You asked your mother what she wants?"

For one of the few times in his life Robin answered without thinking and that made a statement about how upset he was about the whole college thing. "She's dead, both of my parents are dead, since I was eight." He realized what he said. Shit. "But I think she would have wanted me to go, if that was what I wanted. She just wanted me to be happy, she was my mother, y'know?"

"So you think this may make you happy?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"But maybe not? I'm telling you and I never met the lady, but I'm saying that she wanted you to do what _you_ want, not what everyone's telling you. That's what mothers want for their kids. But you know that, right? You're a smart kid, you got a good head on your shoulders, everyone knows that and yeah, you could go out and get a job tomorrow but you ain't gonna get another chance to be a kid, if you hear what I'm sayin' to you. You throw this away and you'll never know if it could have worked out."

"Yeah, but…" The guard came in, time was up.

"Do what you think's best kid, that's what I say. Screw everybody; it's your life. Hey, and next time see if you can get me something about this jerk Bernie Madoff, okay?"

Robin gave him a searching look. "You lose money with him?"

"Not as much as he's gonna lose. Now get outta here, see 'ya in the funny papers."

"Another thing; if you hear anything about my kid Frankie, you let me know, right?"

"What kind of things?"

"Frankie's not—he's havin' a hard time with me bein' in here. His mother's worried about him, 'thinks he may be getting' into some things he shouldn't be. You know—kids."

***

"He's at the prison again? I thought he was done with that."

"Need I remind you that he told you exactly where he'd be while you were both at breakfast this morning, Master Bruce?"

"He didn't say anything to me his morning."

"…Perhaps if you removed your nose from the Wall Street journal and listened to the boy you would know what's going on his life." Alfred ignored the glare.

"And why is he still talking to Gadolfalo? We weren't even working that case, has he mentioned anything to you about these visits?"

"I haven't asked, no, but he has told me that he finds the man fascinating and much more intelligent than he's generally given credit for."

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in it. Do you know if he's signed up for that prep course I spoke to him about?"

"Indeed he did, sir. He appeared to barely contain his excitement."

***

John Gadolfalo finished the last page of the new book Robin brought him last week. He was a good kid; smart, a hard worker and nice. He was a nice kid and that was important. In some ways he liked the kid more than he liked his own son and was startled by the realization. He loved his son, all his kids. He loved them more than just about anything i9n his life aside from his wife but this was different. He liked Robin, enjoyed spending time with him, liked to hear what he had to say, liked the way he was who he was—he was Robin f'the love of God—but he still blushed when he asked if he had a girlfriend. And the kid was thoughtful, considerate, didn't think he was a low-life or scum because of how he made his living. He didn't judge there weren't too many people he could say that about.

Yeah, he should go to college 'cause he was so smart but he could see how the kid would be bored there.

And that thing about his parents being dead. They both died at the same time when he was about eight, he said. He was sixteen now so eight years ago and that was probably what led him to crime fighting. It only made sense.

That was just wrong, a kid like that being left on his own. It wasn't right.

He'd have to give this some thought.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

**Three Years Served**

It hadn't taken the Boss long to figure out that Robin was probably the kid from that fleabag circus. Friggin' Zucco—he'd told the idiot not to pick on a small operation like that and, naturally he'd gone ahead with it anyway and killed a couple of people.

That was bad enough, but then it turns out that was what led to Batman taking the kid under his cape and then they had Batman Junior to deal with. Yeah, sure, he liked the kid plenty but his life would be a sight easier if he'd just kept swingin' on bars or wherever he'd be doin' if he wasn't in a mask.

If the jerk, if Zucco wasn't dead, he'd have put out the word on him and that was the truth.

And then a simple google search (thanks to his guys on the outside) gave him the kid's name and what happened to him. Well, naturally he didn't tell the guys why he wanted the info and none of them would have the balls to ask but—now he knew who Robin was when he wasn't doing his night job and that lead him to who the Bat had to be.

So now the question was what was he going to do with this?

The potential—damn, the potential.

He could call any reporter on the planet.

He could wrap the kid around his little finger.

He could call the Bat's asshole buddy Commissioner Gordon and make some suggestions about why he should be released at his parole hearing when it came around.

He could send his guys out and ambush the Bat when his guard was down.

He could parlay the info into more info—like what were the real names of the members of the JLA.

He could make the Bat an offer he couldn't refuse.

He could make the Bat several offers he couldn't refuse.

_Damn._

He spent hours, days thinking about the possibilities. Good hours, happy hours. He even had good dreams about it and woke up with a smile on his face.

He'd just about made up his mind when he got a call from his wife, the same wife who wouldn't let his kids come to visit so they wouldn't see their father in jail. The same wife who was supposed to be waiting for him and who was screwing his brother. He'd deal with that, with both of them but first he had to deal with the damn phone call.

Friggin' kids.

A week later Robin dropped in and he was ready.

"So you're the one who arrested my son. You gonna tell me about what happened?"

The kid gave him an even look, not something John was used to, especially not from a seventeen-year-old but, hell, this _was_ Robin, right? "It was a drug bust near the docks in Bludhaven—"

"You changin' your jurisdiction?"

"No, sometimes I work places that aren't Gotham, I'm qualified. I'm licensed by Interpol."

"Yeah, good for you, so there was a bust and…?"

"And he was there making a buy. He got caught holding a quarter kilo of coke. He was booked, spent a night in jail and was released on bail."

"That's your idea of looking out for my kid? I asked you and you said you would—that's not what I call bein a friend."

"I never said I'd look out for him and if he wants to deal that's his problem. I was doing my job, it's not my fault if he decides to be stupid."

"You made a choice to arrest him and that's gonna be your problem, kid." Nobody messed with his kid. _No _body.

Robin wasn't accepting delivery, not even a little bit. "C'mon, Mr. Gadolfalo—he's your kid and your wife—his mother—is supposed to looking after him, that's what you told the judge when you were sent here. There's no way you can lay this on me just because your kid is an idiot."

"My kid ends up in a place like this and your ass is grass, you hear me?"

"I doubt it. And you know as well as I do that it's a first offense so he'll get a slap on the wrist and be out in about five minutes, if he even sees the inside of a cell so back the hell off."

Gadolfalo didn't say anything for a long moment. The kid was right, Frankie screwed up by himself, even if Mary was looking after him. And he wasn't there to knock some sense into his empty head. Crap. "…You're the only one to call me on shit, kid. S'down and get that look off your face. I'm just pissed at my stupid son, you were just doin' what you do, I guess."

They were quiet for a couple of minutes then the Boss slid a letter over to Robin to read. It was from Mary, his wife, explaining what happened, how it happened and what she was doing about it, which lawyer's she had working on the case and what they'd said. He knew which judges they had in their pockets. Frankie would walk; they all knew that, just like they knew he'd be back in trouble before the ink was dry on his check to the high priced lawyer's retainer. It was a done deal, an old story.

Robin took a breath, like he was screwing up his nerve. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

"Without a lawyer here, you crazy?—it that kind of question?"

"Yes."

"This why you're here today?" John leaned back and studied the kid's face. Whatever he wanted to know it was important to him. "Ask; I'll decide if I'm gonna answer."

"Did you know Tony Zucco?"

"Sure, but he's dead now."

"I know."

"He work for you?"

"Sometimes?"

"What about a protection scheme in the Northeast about ten years ago, did you have anything to do with that?" The Boss nodded. Robin leaned back in his plastic chair and stared at him without seeing him. Whatever he was seeing in his head happened almost a decade ago.

"I told him not to do it, to leave the small potatoes operations along and go for bigger fish. He didn't listen, Zucco never listened and it got him killed."

"You're telling me that you had nothing to do with it, that you told him you back off?"

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just saying what my opinion of the man was. He was a bullheaded jerk; a low-life and I didn't like being around him. He didn't follow orders and he got what he deserved."

Robin looked at his hands in his lap, he'd suspected the Boss had figured it out a while ago. "You know, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"…Don't know yet, haven't decided."

The kid didn't look up. "Blackmail?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't ruled it out but I don't do shit like that; I play fair with my friends. You're square with me; I'm square with you. 'You've been pretty good to me, like I told you, I don't forget."

Robin's eyes shifted to Gadolfalo, nothing else moved. "You're going to sit on this?"

"For now, sure. You keep playing by the rules and nothin' changes."

"And if I don't?"

"Well then, things might change."

Robin didn't really move but something about him shifted internally and he had the smallest smile on his face, you'd miss it if you weren't looking right at him. "Mr. Gadolfalo, you know I like you and you know I respect you but this is me you're dealing with. Changes can be a two-way street, sir."

John gave a humorless chuckle. "'You threatening me, kid?"

The boy, the young man straightened in his chair and the full smile broke out. "Threaten? Hell no, I just wanted to make sure that we're on the same page." He reached into his messenger bag, the old one he always brought with him and pulled out a couple books. "You said you were a Civil War buff a few months ago so I found the audio version of Shelby Foote's stuff. I thought they were interesting and that you might like them, too."

"Thanks, kid. 'Looks like we're on the same page, huh?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

**Five Years Served**

"You sure about this? You're a smart kid, you could stick through it if you wanted to."

"I know but that's the thing, I don't want to."

"He know?"

"I'm going to tell him before I go back—I'll finish out the semester, take the exams but that's it."

"'Not gonna change your mind, are you?"

"Not right now I'm not. I may go back someday but—I don't know, It's just not for me." Robin traced the fake wood grain on the desk with his finger, his eyes intent on the cheap material.

"So what _are_ you goin' to do, go home with your tail between your legs and live in the room you lived in when you were ten years old?"

Robin exhaled. "Yeah well, that's the problem. I don't want to do that, I mean that's a no-brainer but I haven't completely figured it out yet."

"You gonna tell him that?"

"I'll think of something."

"You know that you blow this chance, you don't get it back, you know that, right?"

"With school?" There was a rare flash of genuine anger, possibly the first time the Boss had seen it from the kid. "Of course I do; I can go back any time I want, all I have to do is change my mind."

"Easier said than done."

"Drop it, okay? Change the subject." He pulled a magazine out of his bag. "I brought you the new issue of Vanity Fair that you wanted. You're right, that article about you is pretty slanted; 'you going to write them or sic your lawyers on them for libel or something?"

"I'll know after I read it. So…"

Robin looked at then man through the bulletproof clear plastic. They'd been meeting like this, visiting every few months since John Gadolfalo had been locked up over five years ago and had developed a sort of friendship based on mutual fascination and, in a weird way, admiration.

In a perverse way Robin saw him as an intelligent man who made something of himself, made money, supported his family as well as he was able, had the respect of his colleagues (such as they were) and ran a successful business. The tradeoff he'd made was that he'd turned to the dark side of the force to do so. It probably wasn't something he would have done, but he didn't really judge the man; if Bruce hadn't ridden up on his white horse when he did, who knew what would have happened?

The Boss saw Robin as a worthy adversary, a smart and dedicated professional shaped by personal tragedy caused by one of his underlings—dumb-ass Zucco—and for which he felt some (unacknowledged but very real) responsibility. The kid was what he unconsciously half wished his own son was and would probably never come close to. Frankie—his own son, about the same age as Robin, was serving a one to three year sentence for possession with intent to sell a controlled substance, the bust partially credited to the kid on the other side of the glass.

Frankie was a screw-up.

Robin was close to the top of his profession and rising.

Frankie would probably do the revolving door thing with prison for years.

Robin could pick and choose anything he wanted.

Frankie would blame anything and anybody for everything.

Robin owned it, good or bad, he took it as it came.

Frankie dropped out of school the minute he turned sixteen.

Okay, Robin had decided to drop out of college, but he still had a badge from Interpol and the GPD to keep him busy.

Frankie hung out with low-lifes and losers.

Robin founded the Teen Titans and worked with the Justice League.

Frankie made the police blotter.

Robin was on the cover of Newsweek last month.

Frankie blamed Robin for not helping him beat the drug charges.

Robin had almost nothing to do with the case.

Frankie couldn't string more than five words together and his vocabulary almost exclusively consisted of 'awesome', 'amazing', 'dude', 'shit' and 'fuck'.

Robin gave interviews to the world's media and spoke at the UN and the White House.

Crap.

And neither of the men sitting in the visitor's room today had ever or likely would ever reveal that they both knew things about one another no one was ever supposed to know. As long as they both played by the unspoken rules, they had an understanding.

"So, what's going on with that girlfriend of yours? 'You still seein' her?"

The boy—the young man—looked back up at him. "We broke up. She kind of dumped me."

"'Because you're leavin' school or is she seein' someone else?"

Robin nodded. "Both. She said I was never around and she couldn't figure out why I was always busy when she wanted to see a movie or something." He fidgeted a little, uncomfortable with the subject. "'You ever hear from your kids?"

"Frankie? He's sitting in a cell, nah."

"Sorry, I know that. What about your daughter, Karen? Do you hear from her does she ever come to see you?"

The Boss looked almost happy. "She comes every visiting day, always brings me stuff to read, always tells me what's going on with her. She's going to Rutgers; did I tell you that? Got good enough grades that they couldn't keep her out, never been in any trouble, always keeps her nose clean." His pride was plain. "She's my angel."

"Does she know I come talk to you?"

"Yeah, I told her; she likes that you take the time. I think she'd like to meet you sometime; you think you could do that?"

Hesitation. Robin didn't want to get sucked in any further than he already was. "I…"

"'C'mon, won't cost you anything."

Robin laughed, "Of course it will, John, one way or another, it's going to cost me."

"You need to get yourself a new girl, kid, I'm telling' you. A good woman makes all the difference for a man. You'll see."

"You're trying to set me up with your daughter? Mr. Gadolfalo, I don't know if that's a good idea."

"What? She's a nice girl, you're a nice boy—it's perfect. Besides, I know you'd treat her right, give me one less thing to worry about."

Robin smiled at that. "What makes you so sure? I was born with as many hormones as anyone."

"Sure you were but you were raised right, I can tell. You're catholic, right?"

"Okay, let's not go there, okay? Seriously, let's just not."

"I'll tell her that you're going to call her. Her birthday is in three weeks; take her out to dinner; she'd like that. 'My dime."

"Mr. Gadolfalo…"

"F'me. Okay, f'her—her old man is in prison. Make her happy."

"Ah, c'mon…"

"Robin, okay, look, I'm serious about this—you don't want to date her, don't date her but take her out for a nice, quiet dinner. She has questions she wants to ask you, wants to know how I'm really doin', 'thinks that no one is telling her the truth. Tell her I'm doin' okay, she'd believe you." The Boss looked human; his walls and masks down. He was a scared father worried about his daughter.

"Dinner, but I'm not promising anything, okay? And if I get any real flack about this I may have to cancel—you understand, right? Conflict of interest isn't cool."

"Yeah, sure. Do the best you can, that's all I'm askin'."

"Okay, but like I said—it may not happen."

"You're a good kid. 'You do this, I owe you. Hey, kid." He stopped Robin who was just standing up to leave. "An' she might change your mind about bein' a drop-out."

"'Doubt it."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

**Six Years Served**

"So it look like you made a few decisions." The Boss held up a paper with a front page article about the new vigillente, Nightwing. "You and the Bat split for good?"

Robin—now Nightwing—gave a half-hearted shrug. "'Just growing up and getting too old to wear shorts."

"Going solo—flyin' the nest. 'Past due, if you ask me. You're not a kid anymore, you've earned the right to go out on your own. I guess I'm glad I'm in here and don't have you on my case; you've learned your stuff too well." He put the paper down and sat on the old plastic chair behind the clear shield separating them. "I don't know how to say this without sound patronizing, but I'm proud of you, kid."

It was sincere and Nightwing nodded his head with a simple 'thank you'. "So, what's going on with you, John? You doing all right?"

"Yeah, sure. 'Another parole hearing next week which will be turned down, same old story."

"'You have anything to do with that hit over in Bludhaven last month?—between you and me."

"Yeah, sure; 'tried to stop it 'cause I know that friggin' new chief down there is tryin' to make a name for himself and I don't see any reason to give him a hand up in the press, if you know what I mean."

Nightwing looked thoughtful; this could be true or John could just bet trying to cover his butt since he had a hearing coming up. It was possible he didn't want to open a turf-war. It was. It was also possible that he was lying. No matter, he'd find out soon enough since he was working the case. "I saw Karen last week, she's decided to go for her master's, did she tell you yet?"

The Boss smiled, proud. "She's a pistol, that one. 'You two ever hook up like you were talkin' about?"

"_You_ wanted us to hook up and yes, we had dinner a few months ago. And you know that. We also saw a concert in the park last week. I haven't proposed, she's not carrying my baby and we haven't signed a lease. We just went out a couple of times and spent the whole time talking about you, if it's any of your business."

"Boy, I have to give you lessons in women if I'm the only thing you two can think of to talk about when you're out with a pretty girl." Gadolfalo was laughing but happy to hear that his little girl was out with a nice young man even if there was almost no chance of it going anywhere. "So, you and the Bat doin okay? I heard you two were kind on the outs—I don't like to hear things like that. A father—that's important, you gotta lot of people in your life but you only got one father, y'hear what I'm sayin'?"

"I told you, we're fine and he's not my father. He's my mentor, my boss but he's not my father."

"Hey, no reason to get testy." So there was problem in the cave. Interesting. 'Could be important. "You have any plans to see Karen again?"

"We're meeting for dinner next week. John—seriously, this isn't going anywhere you want it to; we're just friends and colleagues. She's a lawyer, I'm a cop; we talk shop."

"Yeah, sure. Let's get back to you and this new ID you've decided on. How come 'Nightwing'? What's that?"

"It's from an old legend Superman told me a while ago that I happen to like. And we're friends—Superman and me, I mean. I thought he'd like it so…you know."

"And it works as a 'fuck you' to the Bat, right? Don't bother denying it, kid. I was your age once, and I remember wanting to tell my own father to go screw himself." He held up his hand to stop Nightwing from protesting. "I know, he's not your father, don't bother."

"'There any books or anything you want, John?"

"I get it, change the subject. I'll let you know, thanks."

Nightwing shifted a little in his chair, he never was one for sitting a long time. "I wanted to let you know that I may not be by for a while, 'have some work to do that may take some time."

"Anything you want to tell me about?" No real answer. "'Dangerous? I mean more than usual." Another half shrug as a non-answer. "'Take care of yourself, don't do anything stupid, okay? I mean it—you get hurt who's gonna come all the way out here to bring me books and shit? Besides, you're about the only guy I'd trust my daughter with, y'know."

The younger man laughed. "I think you may be overestimating me."

"Yeah, probably, all young guys like you are the same, all wanting to get lucky, right?"

Undercover in mob w/crutches storyline

23


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

Another month went by and the Boss knew for certain what happened to Nightwing. The only question was what he was going to do about it.

Sure, friendship was important and the kid had been good to him, no question, but business was business. But then, the kid had been nice to Karen too, when almost no one else was because of her family and that counted for a lot, it did.

So it wasn't as easy as it seemed. If this had been anyone else, anyone at all, it would have been a no-brainer but this time…crap.

And it didn't help that he couldn't get in touch with the guy to talk to him, find out where this was going. It wasn't easy, no, it wasn't and the Boss hated things that got complicated. He could have contacted—or had his guys contact—the people who could answer his questions but that would be tipping his hand and he wasn't ready to do that, not yet.

So he had an idea, had his lawyer make a call, which wasn't returned (of course) and then send a follow up letter that did get a result.

Tuesday morning he was called from his cell because he had a visitor.

The man stood in the warden's office, didn't say anything, just stood there waiting for the Boss to make the first move and speak first. But then intimidation always was his stock in trade and John could play the game as well as anyone. Sitting in the leather chair across from the warden, Gadolfalo decided to wait him out. After a while it almost became funny, though, of course, no one was laughing.

The warden played with some papers on his desk.

Batman stood stock still, not even his cape moving.

John calmly watched, waiting.

The clock on the mantle ticked.

They could hear some indistinct voices in the outer office.

The warden poured himself a glass of water.

The phone rang and was answered with a simple 'Later'.

The silence stretched on too long until finally the warden broke it with a single sentence to his prisoner. "Tell him what he wants to know."

That was unexpected; John thought he was here because Batman was responding to the call and letter from his lawyer. 'Guess not.

"What do you know about Nightwing's whereabouts?"

John noticed that the man could talk without moving a single muscle, interesting in a way. And Batman didn't know where Nightwing was? That was even more interesting.

"You got me."

"I suspect I do. Where is he?"

"Dunno. You tell me."

"Tel me or there will be consequences."

"Threats? Whaddaya gonna do, put me in jail?"

Batman moved quickly enough that John was being held off the ground by his throat before he could react. "'Much worse things than jail. Tell me where he is."

"I did, I dunno."

"Where?"

"Fuck yourself."

"Where?" The hand on his throat tightened and he was raised another six inches off the floor.

"I don't have him."

"Where?"

The pain was getting bad, his neck feeling like it was about to break.

"Where?" He shook his arm just enough so that the Boss's legs wobbled like a rag doll's.

"Batman, I really must object…" The warden was getting concerned, a dead prisoner, especially a high profile one would be difficult to explain.

"Where?"

"I think he's with the Bono Family." Another small shake. "In Bludhaven. I heard he's there, workin' for them."

Batman stared at him as if trying to see inside his brain, trying to divine if he as lying or trying to throw him off the right course. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his arm until John could feel the floor beneath his feet. With relief he collapsed, gasping, back into the chair.

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know? He's a grown-up; he does whatever he wants. Maybe he got tired of toeing the line with you, you ever think of that?" He was backhanded across the face so fast he couldn't move out of the way.

"Batman! I have to ask you to leave. Now, please." The warden knew when he had to make a stand and with the most powerful crime family on the East Coast in his office, a man who would be released in a few too short years, this was the time to cover his ass.

"The Bono family works for you, you know everything they do. They obey you. Tell me why he's there."

"They work alone while I'm in here, ask anybody." He ignored the glare; he'd had enough of this. "He's your kid, ask _him_."

The Bat was gone. Gadolfalo was returned to his cell but he knew things it seemed his visitor didn't. He knew that Nightwing was working undercover to stop the drug trafficking. He knew the kid had been hurt, seriously hurt, shot hurt. He knew the kid was on crutches and had snowed Tony Bono into thinking he was a cop turned renegade and wanting a piece of the action and would trade it for inside knowledge.

Tony always was dumb.

Nightwing wouldn't make another appearance until he could walk without a limp. But 'Crutches', that was a different matter.

***

Karen Gadolfalo knew everybody in her father's line of work.

She knew the bosses, the underlings, the wives and the children. She knew the guys who'd retired and what they were up to while they tried to take it easy. She knew their golf and bocce scores. She remembered when someone's kid was to graduate from high school or college, what their plans were and made sure to send a card, often with a check enclosed, from her family.

She could tell you where they liked to vacation, who still had relatives back in the old country and the name of the town or village. Her father relied on her knowledge, counted on it and so knew immediately when the new guy started helping Tony with his imports.

And she knew exactly who he was, too. She'd dated the guy a couple of times at her father's insistence. Nothing had clicked between them, though he was a nice enough guy. She'd recognized him that time he was coming out of Tony's place and she was just pulling in across the street.

Karen was smart. She knew better than to say anything. Of course she told her dad, but that was different. This was information she knew he could use, that he needed.

No one told Tony—who was a low-life and not to be trusted.

And the guy, the one her dad called 'kid' was injured. His leg, he was on crutches and she could tell that it was painful for him but he was still there, still working and that meant that it was just a matter of time before he brought Tony down.

And that would help her father. Assigning a couple of her father's best helpers to keep watch and maybe see what they could do to grease the wheels and make things a little easier for the kid, she stayed away and bided her time.

She left him alone to do her job for her.

TBC

28


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven**

**Conclusion**

**Three Years Ago**

Things were falling apart with Dick and work—it was obvious to him that the crooked cops in BPD were on to him, or would be soon and that wasn't a good thing.

On top of everything he'd realized a few months ago that Karen had figured out his undercover MO. Crap, if the mob didn't kill him then Bruce would.

She'd simply followed the clues he'd stupidly mentioned to the Boss, had given him enough info to figure out, he'd used his contacts to get some more info or which Dick himself had left because he was distracted. It wasn't hard to see how the Gadolfalo's made it happen. They put together a few pieces; knew he was working out of Bludhaven, knew his approximate age, knew his general body type and facial bone structure, his innate abilities and his training and came up with him being some kind of cop/law enforcement/ maybe DA or PI in the `Haven.

That had been an awkward conversation, the day she'd confronted him with her suspicions. He'd denied it, of course but crap, she knew. She simply knew. Now he was almost glad since he had someone with an outside perspective and inside knowledge he could talk to and, nuts as it sounded, he trusted her. Well, okay, he knew it only went so far but he needed someone to hash this out with and, screw it—she was about the only one who could really get what he was talking about and who knew everything about the actual situation. They'd started seeing one another, not dating but as almost co-workers with the same basic agenda getting together to exchange information. He wanted to bring down the organized crime network in Bludhaven and eventually the East Coast and she wanted her father's enemies taken out, killed or locked up for a very long time. They both figured they could work out the long-term details when push came to shove.

He was telling Karen Gadolfalo about it over dinner at a favorite Italian place, the kind that's family owned and has plastic ivy on the walls painted with scenes from the old country. "I wanted to work inside the BPD and it sucks—it really sucks. I liked being a cop on the beat, I really liked it and, dammit, I was making a difference."

"What are you talking about?—BPD is the most corrupt force in the country and they've fingered you as a trouble maker. If you go back there you'll be killed, Dick—Jesus! What kind of death wish do you have, anyway?"

"I sure as hell don't want them, to think they can scare me into being quiet; I want to put them away." Of course Amy Rohrbach had said the exact same thing.

"You'll be put away with a bullet in your brain instead of your leg if you don't keep your mouth shut and you know it. God—even my father can't protect you if you're determined to be stupid and stubborn. If you want to play cop, fine, but use your head."

He stared into his Alfredo for a minute while the waiter opened the wine and poured their glasses. "…What if I don't want to be a cop anymore?"

"Excuse me? You just told me how much you love your job…"

"Used to. I've been busting my ass since I was nine and all I've got to show for it is knowing that the bad guys win more often than the good guys do. I'm tired of beating my head against a wall for nothing."

"So what are you saying, a career change?"

"I'm saying that maybe I'd do better working for the winning team."

Karen just looked at him, of all the things he could have said; this was about the last thing she expected. "Doing what?"

"I have skills, inside knowledge. I could be useful."

Karen was a long was from stupid and she knew there was more to this than Nightwing was letting on. He was hiding something; this was some kind of trick.

"You don't believe me"

"No, I don't. Come on, you spent however many years doing everything you could to lock up people like my father and now all of a sudden you decide to play for the other team? Why the hell would I believe you?"

He pulled up his shirt, not ostentatiously, just enough so that she could see the scars—the old bullet wounds, the healed stab marks, the torn and repaired skin, the calluses on his hands. He moved his injured leg out to the aisle between tables. "I've been in PT for months with this and no promise that I'll regain full use. Do you know how much reward money I'm allowed to keep? Nothing. `Any idea how long it's been since I've had a girlfriend, had the time for one? You want me to count off the number of friends I've buried in the last few years? I'm tired of this."

"And going into dad's business is so much safer. Right."

He took a deep breath. "Look, I have skills, contacts, inside knowledge; do you want the use of it or not? If you don't, I can take my marbles somewhere else."

She studied him for a long moment, deciding. "I'll make a call but you'll be on probation."

* * *

Crutches worked inside the mob for almost six months while his leg finally healed from the bullet wound and he slowly graduated from the crutches to a cane and then finally walked on his own, unaided. It had taken that long with the physical therapist to strengthen the muscles enough to begin to do the gymnastics and acrobatics again and he was feeling good about that.

He was smart, they all knew that and he had some kind of ax to grind with the local cops. He didn't make any secret about that and that gave him enough of an edge that he was useful finding out which times, days and locations would be the safest for `business'. Jimmy Bono watched the new guy, talked to him when he had a reason and gave him larger and larger assignments. They were always done just the way he liked and with a no muss, no fuss air about them.

The guy was good.

An ex-cop came in handy, and that was no lie.

"So, Crutches, y'wanna tell me how you got into this line of work?"

"Y'know, Jimmy, gotta make a living just like anybody."

"Yeah, sure but how come you decided to come on board wid' me? `Lotsa people lookin' for good help, you could go wherever you want; Vegas, Reno, LA, New York, why'd you wanna end up here?"

"I like the area. Nice climate, good working conditions and besides, I've got to get a start, y'know? You were willing to take a chance on me and I want you to know that I appreciate it, I'll make you proud, Jimmy. You'll see."

"I already see, Crutches, besides, you came with a good recommendation— say, your leg feelin' better?"

"Yeah, sure, what do you want me to do?"

"'Shipment comin' in to da' docks tonight around one in the mornin'. I want you to be there as back up, make sure nothing happens that shouldn't."

"Sure, count on me, Jimmy, I won't let you down."

* * *

If all he'd had to do were make sure the drugs were received without incident there wouldn't have been a problem. If the cops hadn't been tipped off, if Jimmy and the Boss weren't in the middle of an undeclared turf war then most of what went down never would have happened.

But it did happen…

* * *

Crutches was at the docks by twelve-thirty, meeting a few of the other guys. Everyone was armed; everyone knew what they were supposed to do. Crutches was in charge of the guys but no one seemed to care one way or the other. "Yeah, well, sure he's the new guy but if anything goes wrong it's his ass, right? Not mine. Besides, Jimmy likes him and he seems pretty smart, that's good enough for me."

It was a particularly dark part of the shipyard, an old pier that was almost never used anymore because the damn thing was falling apart. There were no guards, no security lights, no one—other than Jimmy's men who were out of sight—when the sleek inboard came in.

Crutches waited until the boat was against the old wooden wharf, knowing that they wouldn't tie up. The engine cut out, the only sounds gently lapping water and distant traffic from the bridge. Slowly, carefully, he stood up and walked out. The others followed his orders to stay in the shadows, ready for anything, just in case.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I believe you have a delivery for my employer?"

"`You got the money?"

"Of course." Crutches held out an envelope stuffed with bills, over three million dollars worth. "Just out of curiosity, who's getting this?"

"Castalucci. "

Crutches nodded, of course, the largest drug importer on the East Coast. "Where're the goods?"

"In the back, y'wanna give us a hand?"

"If you don't mind, that's not part of my job."

"It's heavy, man, c'mon."

"I'm sure you fellows can handle it, I've got a bum leg."

There was almost silence while the deliverymen whispered what to do. They had orders, get Bono's head guy on board the boat and make sure he didn't get off under his own power. Period. It wasn't personal. It was payback. It was their orders. Jimmy Bono did something that pissed off the wrong person and this guy, whoever he was, was going to take the fall. But if he wouldn't get in the boat, well, hell. A nod and the four deliverymen drew their guns and started shooting.

Crutches had seen the slight nod, caught the signal and had dived for cover behind a mooring piling while Jimmy's men opened fire with their own weapons. Two men on the boat went down fast, the others still shooting from behind the gunwales. Jimmy's guys knew their stuff and kept up the firepower from behind cover, making sure no one could get to the controls until they holed the speedboat badly enough there was no escape by sea. At that point it became a duck shoot.

"Stop, hold your fire! Stop firing, dammit—Joey, Michael, we need to take these guys back for questioning. "

"Shit, yeah, all right, all right. Joey, stop, man."

A quick check showed thee of the five men from the boat dead and the others badly hurt. Jimmy's men were all right, uninjured and on a controlled high from relief and success. They had the drugs, they had the money and they'd taken out the `Luce's guys, the ones who's been pains in their butts for years now.

It was a good night.

* * *

Check that; it was a good night until they got back to Jimmy's place.

"Hey, Crutches, whadafuck's goin' on?" They didn't stop the car, didn't get out and pulled a U-turn at the end of the street.

The place was surrounded by at least twenty cop cars, lights flashing. There was a Correctional Department van parked, backed up to the main entrance. TV vans and camera lights had the place looking like Miami Beach at noon. Holy crap.

Jimmy was being led out in cuffs, his head down, trying to avoid the TV crews.

Crutches drove to a diner five miles away from the bust. Parking, he tossed the keys to Joey, "Take `em—I'm gone."

"Where you goin'?"

"Away from here, man—I'm an ex-cop—you think they'd let me live a day in the slammer? Tell Jimmy I appreciate everything he did and I owe him one. Be careful, keep your heads down, okay?"

"Yeah, keep your nose clean, dude—you're okay."

Later that night, sitting down in the Cave with Batman, eating Alfred's sandwiches and drinking his familiar hot chocolate, Dick found out the details of what had happened.

He'd been used, set up. While he and the others were making the pick up at the docks, the rest of Jimmy's men had raided Castalucci's main shop. They'd used surprise, more men and bigger guns to kill the two dozen men who were waiting for the pick up men to walk through the door with the kilo's of cocaine. Anthony Castalucci was among the dead. The drugs never arrived.

But `Luce had enough time know what was happening and make a call to Bludhaven's Police Commissioner and call in a last favor. The raid on Jimmy Bono's was organized within half an hour.

Jimmy promised to tell everything he knew about everyone he knew in exchange for leniency.

Two days later John Gadolfalo was found in his cell, the victim of a heart attack.

Or so it was reported.

Karen Gadolfalo was later located living quietly in Switzerland. She never returned to the United States and was not charged with any crimes.

Nightwing had two more contracts taken out on his head, dead or alive.

7/6/09


End file.
